


Shelter From The Storm

by imaginary_golux



Series: Compassion [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Bondage, Cunnilingus, F/F, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Light Dom/sub, Sex Toys, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 23:57:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6305467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Phasma's life is chaos, there is a single thing she can always count on...</p>
<p>Beta by my Best Beloved, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shelter From The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> _’Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood  
>  When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud  
>  I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form  
>  “Come in,” she said, “I’ll give you shelter from the storm."_  
>  -Bob Dylan, _Shelter From The Storm_

It has been a long day in a very long week, so busy that neither Rey nor Phasma has been able to snatch time for more than an occasional kiss before bed, but tonight they have several hours free, at last, with someone else looking after Paddy for the evening, and Phasma settles into parade rest as soon as the door to their room closes behind her. Rey says, soft and clear, “Strip,” and Phasma obeys, folding her clothes neatly and setting them aside.

She turns to face Rey, and Rey reaches up to lace one hand through her hair and pull Phasma down into a kiss - sweet and almost chaste, this kiss, before they really start - then lets go and gestures. Phasma is picked up by that invisible Force which is her lover’s most terrifying (wonderful) skill, and carried back until she is pinned against the wall, arms held above her head, legs spread wide. Rey looks her over with hungry eyes.

“Let me hear you,” she commands, and sinks to her knees in front of Phasma. Phasma can crane her head against the steady pressure of the Force just enough to watch Rey lean in, dark hair stark against Phasma’s pale skin, and then Rey’s mouth is on her, hot and wet and _tongue_ and tiny pinpricks of sharp teeth, and Phasma closes her eyes and moans, because Rey said to let her hear - Rey gave permission, gave _orders_.

The chaos of the week falls away, and Phasma’s mind calms until the only things that still matter are Rey’s voice, Rey’s mouth hot between her legs, the steady pressure of the Force pinning her so that Phasma doesn’t _need_ to think, only needs to relax and surrender and obey. Rey’s tongue flicks just so, and Phasma shudders, arches against the Force’s invisible bonds, and moans through her orgasm, because Rey said to let her hear.

Rey sits back on her heels and grins up at Phasma, then stands and holds an imperious hand towards the bedstead. “I bought a new toy,” she says, and the drawer of the bedstead opens, and Phasma watches a sleek silver shape glide unerringly into Rey’s hand. It is as shiny as Phasma’s armor used to be, clearly heavy and well-made, and the hint of a grin on Rey’s face is delightful and worrisome in equal measure. “Tell me what you want,” Rey orders her, and Phasma lets the order wash the worry away.

“Kiss me,” she says, and Rey’s eyes go wide and dark, which is exactly the reaction Phasma wanted. “And then fuck me.”

Rey leans up and kisses her fierce and sharp and sweet, and Phasma can taste herself on Rey’s lips. Phasma kisses back as well as she can, pinned like this, revels in every second of Rey’s lips against hers. She always keeps her eyes open when Rey kisses her, because there is always the chance that it will be the last time, and Phasma wants to remember every second of it, the way Rey’s eyes flicker closed and her cheeks go a little pink and she puts her whole attention into the kiss.

Then Rey leans back a little, and opens her eyes to give Phasma a fierce grin, and Phasma can feel the toy sliding into her. It is a little cool, hard and heavy and implacable, and Phasma moans for it, wants to tilt her hips and spread her legs wider and cannot.

Rey backs away, grinning a little now, and strips her own clothes off; the toy moves without her hand upon it, long smooth strokes that make Phasma moan deep in her throat. Though that might be watching Rey move, sleek and beautiful, all grace and slender deadliness. Rey sits down on the edge of her bunk, leans back on her hands and spreads her legs and just watches Phasma for a moment, and Phasma meets her eyes and moans for her. Rey’s grin gets wider.

The Force holding Phasma to the wall puts her gently on her feet, releases her arms, and Rey says, “Come and kneel for me.” Phasma crosses the room, stride broken by the sudden slide of the toy inside her, and sinks to her knees between Rey’s feet. Rey sits up, leans down, laces her fingers through Phasma’s hair and tilts her face up and kisses her thoroughly, and the toy _vibrates_ between Phasma’s legs. Phasma whimpers into the kiss, and Rey pulls away with a triumphant, delighted look. “My good, obedient Phasma,” she says quietly. Phasma shivers with pleasure.

“Eat me out,” Rey orders, and leans back as Phasma leans in, braces herself on her hands and closes her eyes and lets Phasma hear her moan. The shining toy shifts and shivers with Rey’s pleasure, long smooth strokes and tiny shivery circles and, when Phasma gets something very right, little shaky jerking motions like Rey can’t quite muster the control to keep it steady. And then Rey says, hoarse and delighted, “Two fingers - in me - and your thumb on my clit.”

Phasma obeys. She knows how Rey likes to be touched, now, the deep strokes of her fingers and the tiny firm circles of her thumb, and it takes very little time before Rey is gasping, wet heat tight around Phasma’s fingers as she comes. Phasma doesn’t stop: she hasn’t been ordered to, and she knows that Rey _likes_ the pleasure-pain of this sort of overstimulation, likes being brought over her peak as many times in a row as Phasma can manage. Phasma closes her eyes and lets herself think of nothing except this.

Eventually - Phasma does not know how long it’s been, though her jaw is beginning to grow sore - Rey says, “Enough.” Phasma leans back on her heels and opens her eyes to admire the flush high on Rey’s cheeks, her blown-dark pupils. Rey is as beautiful here as she is in a fight, glorious as the dawn.

“Touch yourself,” Rey orders, and Phasma slides her sticky fingers down between her own legs, presses her clit in the way she has learned she likes the best. Rey leans forward to put her hands on Phasma’s cheeks, kisses her long and sweet while Phasma whines with pleasure, and pulls back just far enough to whisper, “Come for me, my Phasma.”

Phasma obeys.

When Phasma has stopped trembling, Rey coaxes her up onto the bed, gently. The toy slides out from between Phasma’s legs and goes gliding off into the refresher - Phasma hears it click against the sink - and a wet washcloth slaps into Rey’s outstretched hand. Rey cleans Phasma off with gentle, firm strokes, sends that washcloth back and summons another for herself, then settles down beside Phasma, her head on Phasma’s shoulder and one hand resting on the curve of Phasma’s ribcage. Another flick of Rey’s fingers turns off the lights and twitches the blanket into place atop them.

“Sleep,” Rey orders softly, and Phasma smiles into the darkness.

“Yes, Rey,” she replies, and obeys.

(Phasma dreams of swirling snow - or is it sand? - everywhere around her, but where she stands, two paces behind Rey, the storm cannot reach; they stand in the eye of the whirlwind and it is Rey’s voice which holds it back. And in the dream, Rey turns and smiles at Phasma, and says, “Kneel,” and as Phasma drops to her knees the storm dies away entirely, and the only thing that moves in the vast dreamscape is Rey, who steps forward and leans down and gives Phasma a deep and perfect kiss.)


End file.
